Circumstances have dictated that a few of the guys and myself have not met up recently, so we got together in town yesterday for a coffee. Crikey, talk about crock and bloody roll.
I must admit that it was down to me for starting the ball rolling. I minced into the café as though I had a butt plug up the jacksie, courtesy of my chronic bad back.
‘Aye aye, here he is, fucking Long John Silver’, somebody blurted out. ‘Hampton Court, is it?’.
‘No I always walk this way’ says I. ‘Fuck off, me back’s giving me gyp again’.
‘Tell me about it’ says somebody else. ‘I was playing golf last week but had to throw in the towel after eight holes. Me knee was the size of a melon. Bastard arthritis. The doc’s got me on these new tablets…’.
And so it went on.
‘Where’s Harry anyway?’. ‘Oh he phoned to say he can’t make it. He’s got an appointment at the hospital to get his Chalfonts checked out again. Thinks he needs an op’.
‘I’ve had a bit of a chest infection. Doc had me cough up a lump into a little cup and sent it away. I’m on antibiotics…’.
‘Have you had your Covid booster? Took me over an hour to get where I had to go. Here, that reminds me, I’m due a PSA test’.
‘I wish they’d hurry up and let me know about getting my other cataract done. I was hoping to be in and out before Christmas’.
Bloody Nora. I remember those halcyon days when we would ponder deeply upon a whole range of weighty philosophical, political and cultural matters; breasts, dodgy refereeing, breasts, transfer speculation, legs, breasts, drink, arses, boardroom shenanigans, arses, and breasts. We used to be a veritable Brains Trust.
These days we have dick-wagging contests about who can last the longest without having to get up in the night for a piss. I’ve said it before but I’ll say it again; it’s a long and winding road from acid rock to acid reflux.
Growing old’s a pain, and I need it like I need a second arsehole. What a cunt. Bugger, where did I put my fucking bus pass?
Nominated by: Ron Knee
